100 Prompts Challenge
by RapunzelInTheSnow
Summary: Okay, so this is 100 prompts I found, and decided to write it for FrUk.
1. Beautiful

What did he find beautiful?

This question raced around Francis' mind without stopping, as he tried to find a perfect present for Arthur's birthday, trying to think as he did so. He'd seen Arthur spend time on different hobbies, but never had he really seen Arthur window shop, or look at something and want to buy it without being able to. He had so many books, he had so many cooking utensils… Actually, Francis decided he wouldn't buy him something to cook with.

As far as he knew, the Brit didn't like jewellery much and hardly liked to have his clothes bought for him. What to get him?

…

Arthur went red as a little gift box was plonked on the table, Francis grinning in something close to triumph.

"It is perfect for the waistcoats you wear all the time!" Francis said proudly. Arthur rummaged around in the tissue paper, finally grasping something cold like metal. Opening his hand he saw a pocket watch nestled there with something inscribed on its cover.

_Time has made many mistakes, but it brought me you – Francis._

He felt a tear trickling down his cheek, wiping it away and tucking the watch away in the pocket of his waistcoat.

The best present he could have asked for was Francis' smile. That was what he found to be most beautiful.


	2. Love

What did love mean? As far as Arthur knew, it meant sunset kisses, a prince, no misunderstandings, and respect.

The complete opposite of what he and Francis were. They would argue, and he wouldn't show the other how much the insults went to his heart. He would refuse to listen to him, and get drunk if it got too much. Never wine, though, as it was stupid to do that if you were crying over someone addicted to the stuff.

He was a gentleman, and as such thought respect was the basis of the relationship in every circumstance. He tried not to cry in front of Francis, as he knew how much pleasure that git would take in teasing him.

Francis, on the other hand, knew what love meant in regards to himself. It meant arguing with the British man so that no one would think he liked the other, and watching as Arthur stormed off. It meant not thinking about Arthur drowning his sorrows because you knew whose fault that unhappiness was and hitting on girls with blonde hair and green eyes. It meant always insulting him so he didn't know if he was liked, and pretending not to notice when his eyes showed signs of crying.

It meant wanting to put your arms around a certain person, and holding back because you were afraid of their reaction. It meant picking up a drunk man from the pub and making sure he got home safely.

It meant spiralling down as you fell deeper in love.


	3. Dream

This dream always made him cry.

In the dream, Arthur was back in his arms, smiling with those green eyes and his hair all fluffy from sleep. He was smiling and asking Francis a question, his gaze softened.

_Why are you crying?_

And Francis could never answer that stupid question. He was always waking up before that. He sighed, pushing back the covers and slowly getting ready for the day.

…

"Oh, it's you, Mr Bonnefoy!" the young nurse on duty said in a happy tone. She wasn't surprised, but then again, why should she be? He always came here and always brought flowers. Francis hated the smell of hospitals, but put up with it anyway.

The flowers were English roses, of course. He never stopped bringing them, and always asked to spend the day with the patient. It always made the nurse feel sorrow to the very bottom of her heart to see him crying and talking to the man who wouldn't wake up to hear him.

Sitting by Arthur's bed, Francis placed the roses down and cleared his throat.

"Hello, Arthur. I had another one of those dreams. I know you aren't dead but it feels like it to me. I dreamt you were back, and you asked me why I was crying. I'm crying because I miss you, cher. My dearest wish is that you will open your eyes."

He smiled, brushing away a tear quickly.

"Silly, though. I know you won't. I want you to wake up but you can't. I can almost imagine you, you know? Calling me an idiotic git for thinking you can and won't if it's me. You don't need to tell me, I know."

He rested his head in his hands as his eyes took in Arthur's motionless form. What could a man in a coma dream? Hopefully happy things… He wanted him to be happy.


	4. Haunted

The blue eyes stared up at the abandoned manor. Everyone found it scary, but he also couldn't help but marvel at the English Gothic architecture. The stories of the ghost of a man who had died with no soul to mourn him haunting the place did not scare him. Francis Bonnefoy was the son of the richest man in town, who had grown up in luxury, and had freedom to do as he pleased.

Anyway, he never had believed in ghosts even as a child, his only thought about this rumour being that people would believe anything in this place. He stepped forward, and shivered a little, telling himself that it was just the cold that made him react as such. After all, it was the late autumn, and cold winter breezes had been around for the last week now.

He looked up from his feet and saw another young man standing a few feet away from him.

"Oh, so you came to explore to?" he asked pleasantly. The other man nodded stiffly.

_Wow, so that's what they mean by the silent type._

He walked over to the man, taking careful note of his features – ruffled blond hair, green eyes and damn those were thick eyebrows – before holding his hand out in greeting. A grin crept onto the other man's face before he walked right up to Francis, took his hand and disappeared suddenly.

Francis gasped in shock, before turning on his heel. He ran along the road with flaming cheeks, truly believing in ghosts, reliving the sensation of lips brushing the back of hands while also remembering the sparkle of those emerald green eyes.


	5. Memory

Arthur sighed as he pulled on his jacket, grumbling to himself. Once again he had had to endure being sat next to Francis in the meeting, which was not exactly to his taste – or in his mind, to anyone's taste. The Frenchman hadn't exactly been accommodating or polite, making references to the past in an embarrassing manner. The same as ever!

Honestly, he hadn't really grown up much! It had been the same when they were kids, although Francis had been exactly as odd. He had always mocked him, but his hair had actually suited him back then rather than looking like an overgrown mane.

What did Francis get out of teasing him? He didn't really know, but he did know that it annoyed him.

…

Francis grinned as he spotted the Brit muttering under his breath. He always had such an adorable face when he was annoyed, all red and cross without much reason behind his arguments. It was the same when they were kids; then Arthur would even get teary and cry. Francis could remember this with a smile, while Arthur hated to be reminded of it. It was cute the way he would go red with the merest hint of scandal. First his cheeks, then the blush would spread to his ears. If he didn't want to be teased he should learn not to blush so adorably.

He really hadn't changed one bit, not at all! How much cuter could he get? Sneaking up behind him he suddenly hugged the Brit, who let out a shriek of mixed surprise and dismay.

"We both remember, mon lapin, and I for one will never forget."

_Especially such precious memories._


	6. Fragile

The delicate questions, the little breakable heart that had become so strongly attached to his. It was hard not to test that bond, to test the levels of forgiveness. But seeing him cry was dreadful for Francis, the way he didn't seem to notice liquid sorrow trailing down his cheeks. He was left cracked and broken by so many people who professed themselves to be close to him, and Francis wanted to fix his heart before it shattered irreparably. But the way that trust shone in Arthur's eyes almost invited hurt into his life.

So Francis had to be careful, not letting Arthur feel alone. Constantly he wanted to hold him closer, but Arthur would panic if this happened. He instead held him as gently as you might a child, trying to keep him by his side.

He was an English rose alright, easily bruised but still prickly if approached, but all thorns were gone if he was really hurt. Then Francis would pick up the pieces, hold him lighter than he wanted to, make him endless cups of tea, sit with him as Arthur explained what had happened, let the other man approach him and shyly hug him before running off in embarrassment, so that Francis had to go find him huddling under his desk. At least he always hid in the same place for the other man to find him. It would have been easy anyway – Arthur always went so red he practically glowed.

He was so fragile it was hard to restrain from breaking him. Francis always locked away the side of him that would have done that without thinking for Arthur. For his little breakable _lapin._


	7. Betrayal

Arthur was fuming, his eyes not looking up at Francis as the other man made his excuses for abandoning him, leaving him on his own. Yes, Arthur knew exactly where Francis had been – picking up girls with his friends.

Arthur knew that he wasn't exactly a catch, with his not really outstanding looks and his…

Condition.

The one that meant that it was potentially fatal for him to be on his own – when he was little he had insisted that he was with 'Flying Mint Bunny' so could be left on his own. His parents had explained that the person with him had to be able to get him to hospital

. Francis knew about it and had promised never to leave him in a situation where he was in danger like that. It wasn't like he didn't know his boyfriend was epileptic, it was that he'd just seen a pretty skirt and forgotten. He was definitely the worst!

Arthur looked up at Francis, who fell quiet at the look Arthur was giving him. He had known what he was doing, and the flicker of guilt grew into a drowning torrent that pointed out again and again who was at fault. The facts were cold and harsh; Arthur might have died because he couldn't resist flirting with a girl. His boyfriend, who he loved so much, might be lying run over in the middle of the road.

Absence epilepsy meant that Arthur's eyes would glaze over and he would not stop walking – in fact, on their first outing Francis had pulled him back from the road with his heart feeling like it would thud out of its chest at the sight of Arthur's glazed eyes, and not being able to answer what he had done.

He'd promised to protect Arthur, and he'd betrayed him.


	8. Drunk

It was so silly, the way Arthur would drown himself in drink and then call him, crying about something or other that had upset him. Francis didn't mind collecting him from the pub, happy to remove him from the presence of alcohol and set up a bed on the sofa, set out painkillers for the morning and tucking the other man in like a child, kissing him on the forehead or hand before going to his own room.

Why? To answer that, you just had to listen to him, to the way his voice curled when Arthur was there, the way he would watch him softly when he was sure the Brit wasn't looking, to hear his whisper as he kissed Arthur goodnight of 'je t'aime, cher,' or see the way flowers mysteriously turned up in the Englishman's home with a note that simply had a heart drawn on it. Arthur never noticed the notes, which was endearing to Francis.

He loved Arthur, loved the way he would frown, or watch flowers grow, or concentrate on embroidery, how he would dote on his cat Iggy or how he would go red at any attempt to hit on him. He hated how the Brit didn't notice that the Frenchman loved him, and how other people attempted to hit on him. It was surprising how much jealousy he could feel when it came to Arthur, and how he felt like picking Arthur up and running off to somewhere that no one could flirt with him.

That reason, that one reason….

_Je t'aime._


	9. Butterfly

"Arthur!"

The green eyed man turned to see a grinning Francis standing in front of him with a glint in his eye.

"Yes?" His heart was doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did around Francis. His cheeks were turning ever so slightly pink, which made Francis' grin stretch wider than it had done.

"Do you like insects?" the French man asked. Francis looked really evil, right then, but Arthur nodded anyway. He did like caterpillars for instance. Francis leaned closer, taking happy note of Arthur's red cheeks as he did so. Arthur felt himself go ever so slightly dizzy from the proximity. Francis was way too close now…

A light sensation on his cheek caused him to open his eyes out of pure shock, to see Francis fluttering his eyelashes against his cheek. He went redder than ever, as Francis stepped back out of hitting range.

"That, mon ami, is a butterfly kiss…" Arthur froze. Did that mean…

It had to mean…

That technically Francis had just kissed him. He felt tears start in the corners of his eyes, before slapping Francis across the face.

"If you were going to kiss me you could have at least made it a proper kiss!" he yelled as he ran away. Francis lifted a hand to his cheek, staring after the other with a grin on his face.

Oh, he would, next time. Especially if Arthur reacted in the same way.

**This is the author, if you have taken the time to read then please review to let me know what you think!**


	10. Letters

Dear Francis,

This is a letter for you. For no one else but you.

The first time I saw you I was scared. I hadn't met another country aside from my brothers, and that hadn't gone well. So I hid, in the leaves.

However, you found me and dragged me out, laughing. I was stunned. I think that's when I realised you were different.

Later, I saw you when you broke down. When my people burned her. I think it's time to say that it was against my will that they did that. When they found out I did magic they tried to burn me. Hear that, frog? I revealed myself, feeling that a world where you hated me and loved someone else wasn't good. Damn flames did burn me but of course, I couldn't die.

Then, I realised I loved you.

It was hard to deal with, and I didn't know what to do. I was terrified. I was nearly freaking out when you asked me to marry you – and broken hearted when I realised you only wanted to save yourself. You didn't care…You probably would have married Russia if it had saved you.

Now, I write this, to tell you the United Kingdom is being dissolved. Know what that means? It means I write this letter on my deathbed to tell you that even though you are a git, I still love you.

Don't cry, but laugh. Laugh as long as you can, dearest.

Arthur Kirkland, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.


	11. Rumours

"_The new kid is dreadful."_

The rumours reach Francis' ears like poisoned snakes gliding in to fill his brain with venomous ideas. The ideas are terrible– set him up with a cheerleader, humiliate him, spike his drink – but he is curious, so he waits in his next lesson for the teacher to introduce them.

She asks the kid to introduce himself, and a boy stands up frowning. His eyebrows are thick, but golden hair has been brushed over them in a desperate and failed attempt to cover them up and such a glare it is as emits from those eyes!

He meets it and is instantly transported to a forest where all he can see is beautiful green and a hint of gold, like the summer that is fading into autumn and he audibly gasps out loud, causing his friends to look quizzically at him.

He shakes it off, but keeps an eye on the new kid. He missed the boy's name, but watches him all the lesson, taking careful note especially of the way the boy's hand curves when he writes and how the messy hair falls into his eyes and how he goes pink and frowns at any attention.

That is when Francis finds out he can make the boy blush just by winking. It's a fascinating process; his ears turn crimson and red roses bloom on his cheeks before his gaze drops.


	12. Thunder

**Please read and review! Reviews help the author feel she is writing well…**

Francis is laughing in the hotel bar, flirting with every woman in sight and enjoying himself when the storm hits. It seems to shake the window panes, and a few of the girls look scared, causing another face to flash into the Frenchman's mind with frightening accuracy.

His lapin's face, pouting as he frowns.

He excuses himself, waving away the concerns of his friends to address his own, running up the stairs to reach Arthur's room, just to check that he is okay, opening the door to see complete darkness. He thinks Arthur must have left, turning to go himself when the lightning crashes once more, lighting up and outlining the room, including a huddled silhouette in the corner.

Francis rushes over, gathering Arthur in his arms and hating himself for throwing away Arthur's worries just for the sake of a little flirting with some girl he will never really see again. He feels like hitting something when he notices the tear tracks that have gathered on Arthur's cheeks, and the way the Brit clings to him like he is the safest person in the world, a voice hoarse from crying out in fear thanking him over and over again.

Francis is secretly glad though. If this allows him to be close to Arthur, he would gladly welcome any storm, anything that makes those guards around Arthur's heart crash down.


	13. Forever

What does it mean to be a nation? To live forever?

It means day after day after day of feeling death, emotions swirling that are not yours, putting up with people because they are the same breed as you, eventually falling into that trap, age old as its winged creator.

Love.

Loving someone who will never seem to love you back, who will always avoid you. Who thinks you only like the feeling of lust and never would love him.

Thinking the worst of you while you see sunlight in all they do.

_What is to like to fall in love when you live forever?_

_It sucks. You know that one day you will suddenly fall out of love as powerfully as you fell into love. You know that most likely they will never love you, even if forever lasts for its allotted time._

_Even if you were to dissolve, to die without a trace or be replaced, they would never return your stolen heart._

_Arthur is in love._

Francis is in love.

_His love would go for anyone but draws the line at him, for his sins._

His love loves in the most general sense, offering friendship to a few and fussing like a mother hen over those hurt, but never looks for love, never looks to Francis without a frown.

What forever means?

_An eternally breaking heart, for your love. That is forever._


End file.
